On Board
by NairobiWonders
Summary: AU where Watson says Yes! to Sherlock's invitation to the treasure hunt in Australia & the whole end of season 2 doesn't happen! Vignette on board a ship. Just for fun, silliness to lighten things up, joanlock. I just added a Chapter 3 to end their adventure. That's it, I promise, now it's complete.
1. Chapter 1

The yacht was steadily making its way across the baby blue waters towards the coordinates Sherlock and Watson had worked out for the sunken ship. The varnished wooden deck in back shone in the hot sun and Sherlock, in his green swim trunks stood watching the water swirl behind the boat. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of Watson emerging from downstairs. His eyes scrunched and squinted as if he was looking directly into the sun.

Watson wore a white string bikini, a floppy hat and nothing else. Sherlock panicked. She was gorgeous. He didn't know where to look. Well, he knew where he wanted to look but instead he looked into her eyes.

"For goodness sakes, Watson, put something on!" he hissed at her.

Joan looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Sherlock, I am wearing a bathing suit. We are in the middle of the ocean..."

He cut her off, "Yes. On a ship, rife with Australian sailors, many who appear to have had one Fosters too many..." He knew was being foolish and had no right to tell her what to do or how to look, but panic set in when he thought of any one of those tanned, blonde Aussies hitting on Watson and what her response might be.

"Shut up, Sherlock. You're usually berating me for Victorian prudishness and now ..."

He grabbed a beach towel from the deck, "Here put this on?"

"No!" Joan looked at him sternly, "Come here, you need sunscreen. You're turning red as a beet. Lay on your stomach."

He knew he was burning; his winter white skin was no match for the summer sun of this latitude. Sherlock grudgingly acquiesced, placed the towel down on the wooden bench, and lay as requested.

"You're burning. You're already red and hot to the touch," she chided him as she squirted the cold sunscreen onto his shoulders.

"It's not just the sun," he mumbled into his arms folded before him.

Watson slathered sunscreen on his back and shoulders enjoying the good strong feel of his muscles and taking time to get a closer look at his tattoos. The only other time she'd been in this position, she was removing a bullet from his back. Sherlock, for his part was also enjoying the sunscreen application, much more so than he'd ever let on.

"Turn over," she demanded. His chest needed protecting too, she rationalized. She was doing this for him as any good partner would.

"That's alright, Watson I can do this myself." He turned over an attempted to sit up but she gently pushed him flat back down.

"I don't mind," And before he could resist further, Joan was making sure his chest was as well protected as his back. He closed his eyes while she applied the lotion because the woman was too close, more than half-naked and touching him, causing all manner of impure thoughts and images to march through his mind about his partner.

She noticed the small astrological tattoo at his lower waist. Scorpio. She delicately went to apply sunscreen there and that's when he stopped her while he still could.

"You're turn." He popped up and took the tube from her hands. She did not resist. They switched places.

His hands were strong, yet quite gentle. He slowly covered her back, memorizing every freckle and dimple, forcing himself to stop at the bikini line. Sherlock quietly asked her to flip over. She did. He looked at her laying in front of him. Joan squinted up at him, daring him to try placing sunscreen on her chest and tummy. After a brief staring contest, she finally gave him permission with a dip of her head and laid back to let him apply the sunscreen. It proved a little too pleasurable for both of them.

Joan sat up, cleared her throat trying to find her voice, "I forgot to ask, could you uhm ... help me with something ... in uh, ... my cabin?"

Sherlock enthusiastically nodded yes, eyes wide, he grabbed the towel that Watson had just been laying on, held it in front of him and followed her downstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

They lay on her small bunk bed - naked, sprawled one on top of the other, and more relaxed than either of them remembered being in months upon months. Sherlock's head lay in the middle of Joan's chest, listening to her heart beat, his hands underneath her shoulders. One of her arms was wrapped around his back and with the other she held his head gently to her. With care, he picked his head up and placed several rhapsodic kisses where her heart was beating. Looking up at her face, flush and radiant, as she looked down at him, he produced a small lopsided smile, "I am thankful you are so particular about using all natural products." He slowly dragged his lips from her breast up to her neck as he spoke, "I have kissed, licked, and ingested enough of this sunscreen that I would be seriously ill by now if it weren't for its nontoxic nature."

Joan laughed. Sherlock couldn't decide which was more pleasurable the way her body moved underneath him and rose to meet his with each giggle or just watching her laugh, carefree and open, a rare occurrence for Watson. She stroked his hair, caressed his face and smiled, "We really need to work on your pillow talk."

"I have better things to do with my lips than talk," he said in his most lascivious tone, and wiggled his eyebrows at her. He gave her a deep passionate kiss and then moved on to her shoulder and neck, giving her several playful bites that set off another set of giggles from Watson.

"Sherlock, no," she laughed and falsely protested as she wriggled underneath him. They had never before allowed each other this much freedom and she was going to enjoy it all before it evaporated and winter set in again.

"If that is what you wish," he peeled his upper body slowly off hers, and gazing deep into her eyes, he hovered over her. She placed her arms on his chest and let them glide down his body to his hips and lower back.

"I'm not ready to let you go yet, " she whispered, and guided him back down on top of her.

"We should get back up there," Sherlock weakly protested, as Joan pushed him on his back and climbed on top of him. His hand reached up for her face, sweeping her hair aside, he brought her down to him once more.

It was mid afternoon before they emerged from downstairs. Holmes first. He was met by the news that there was a storm heading their way and the captain had decided to ride it out rather than turning back. Sherlock took in all the information provided and concurred with the captain's decision.

Joan appeared towards the end of the conversation with the captain. She wore a strapless one piece bathing suit that was just as enticing as the bikini in Sherlock's estimation. Sherlock's zeal earlier in the day had irrevocably damaged her string bikini.

Her floppy hat, the drink she sipped, the freckles on her nose were proving a great distraction for Sherlock and he heard less and less of the nautical gibberish the captain was spouting.

The captain was finally called away and Joan came and sat next to him, right up to him, something she would never do back home. Sherlock threw his arm around her and squeezed her tight. They knew it was a fantasy and once home it would have to stop but for now this was their reality and they'd enjoy every last bit of it while they could.


	3. Chapter 3

The evening meal was served family style; captain, crew, guests, all ate together in the small dining area. Halfway through the meal, the captain was handed a note by one of his staff. The news he had to tell his passengers was not good, but he was pretty sure they'd take it relatively well. From what he had observed today, they seemed to have become more interested in each other than the treasure hunt.

Sherlock was not pleased. His only comment on being told that another team had located the sunken treasure was to say, "They are wrong. They may have found a sunken vessel but I dare say it is not the correct sunken vessel." Watson agreed. The entry she and Sherlock had presented contained the only possible location of the ship. The captain had his orders; they would start sailing back towards port immediately.

After dinner, Sherlock and Watson stood on the top deck and watched the last of the sunset. The approaching storm swept in dark charcoal clouds that the setting sun outlined in deep red and orange. It was a spectacular show Mother Nature provided as the grey clouds transformed to inky black, joined forces and swiftly obliterated all traces of light on the horizon. The sea was getting choppy and far in the distance a faint flash and a low rumble trumpeted the muted beginnings of the storm. They both stared straight ahead, their forearms touching as they leaned on the railing and watched, not saying much at all.

The wind, laden with the smell of salt and ozone, picked up in strength and sent their clothes fluttering about them. Sherlock's focus shifted and he cast his eyes down onto his hands clasped before him. His voice came soft and low, as if not to disturb the darkness, "Would you ... spend the night with me?" He didn't dare look at her in fear of her response. Joan answered by leaning into him and placing her hand on his. Opening his hand and lacing his fingers through hers, he held on tight and turned to look at her.

Another flash of light and clap of thunder surprised both of them. Large drops of cold rain started falling. Just a few at first tiptoed around them, but the drops soon gathered number and pushed by the winds, soaked both of them before they made it to the safety of the doorway. They ran inside and down to Sherlock's cabin hand in dripping hand.

Sherlock first through the door, pulled off his soaked tshirt, grabbed a large towel and turned to face Watson. Water dripped from her face and hair. Her white cotton frock had been rendered practically transparent by the rain and Sherlock once again he found himself transfixed by her presence.

Watson, shivering with cold, snapped him out of his reverie, "Sherlock. Sherlock, the towel, please?"

He quickly reacted, stepping forward, wrapping her in the large white towel and embracing her, "I'm sorry. You're just so... even soaked to the skin... beautiful ... I ..." His words, though they never completed his thought, did more to warm her than any mere towel could ever do.

Embarrassed by his forwardness, Sherlock kept talking. "You need to change out those. Here, ... one of my shirts should work," he handed her a shirt and another towel and waited.

"I'm not going to change in front of you Sherlock." She looked around for the bathroom door.

"Watson, ... We ... You and I ... Earlier today ..." He was flustered. He still could not make words form sentences in his mouth. They had had sex, they had been naked, they saw and felt and enjoyed each other not more than seven hours ago but he couldn't say the words to her. Sherlock stopped and pointed her to the bathroom door.

Joan stepped forward, towels and shirt in hand, placed her wet clothed body up to his chest and whispered, "What we shared earlier today was lust, desire, that we've denied for way too long. I'm not ashamed of that. But tonight I want more. I want all of you ... Even if it's only for this one night ..." She looked up into his face and kissed him, turned and went to change in the bathroom. He stood, frozen to the spot, unsure of what to do.

-:-:- -:-:- -:-:-

She stepped out of the bathroom into a darkened room, the little bit of light that shone came through the glass pane of the small window. All was quiet except for the sound of the rain pinging against the side of the ship. For a second Joan thought she had scared him off with her frankness, but the she caught sight of his silhouette. Soft music started to play from what sounded like his phone. He stepped up to her, put his arm around her waist resting his hand in the small of her back, and murmured, "May I have this dance?"

The raspy voice of the singer was not Elvis, but it was heartfelt, slow paced and imbued new meaning to the old song. She wondered who was singing.

"Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you..."

"Eels," he answered her unspoken question. "Mark Oliver Everett, his father was a brilliant physicist, ...the many worlds theory, presented the parallel universe ..." Nerves were making him ramble on.

"Shhhhh... " she placed her head on his shoulder as they swayed to the music. His bare chest radiated warmth and the small movements of his hands on her body lulled her into a state of absolute contentment. He pulled her a little closer and lay his cheek on her head.

"Like a river flows surely to the sea

Darling so it goes, somethings are meant to be..."

The scent of her, of the rain in her dark hair, the silken feel of her bare skin beneath his shirt, the sway of her body against his, all of it - all emboldened and freed him and he found himself softly singing the last lines of the song to her.

The music stopped. Joan raised her hands to his face and they stood. "I wish I had the words to explain how I feel, how I love you ..." Her voice was hushed.

If lust had been what ignited their passion earlier in the day, then it was a weak accelerant compared to the power of their feelings for each other. Love was too weak a word. Sherlock would describe it as soul binding, a connection so deep and true that life without her was unimaginable. The night was by bouts tender and emotional then passionate and reckless, made all the more intense by the knowledge that this might be their last time together.

Morning light found them ensconced in white sheets, face to face, intertwined and clinging to each other, eyes shut firmly against the reality of the oncoming day. Joan lay in his arms not wanting to move, lest she burst this bubble they had created for themselves. Eventually she concluded it would be less painful if she left before he woke. She carefully attempted to disentangle herself from him, only to feel his arms clasp around her, and hear his close-eyed plead, "Not yet, Watson, not yet. ... Stay a little longer." Her eyes filled with tears and she settled in to the crook of his neck as he turned his body onto hers.

-/-/-/-/-/-/ -/-/-/-/-/-/-

The ship was docked and a taxi waited to take them to the research institute for one last meeting. Joan, back to her professional garb, knocked on Sherlock's cabin door.

"In!" He bellowed.

"Sherlock, let's go. They're waiting for us." He was dressed in a light grey suit, with a white shirt.

"I can't get this confounded button..." He yanked his chin up in invitation for her assistance. She went to help and as she went to button his collar realized this was it, with this button put in place this fantasy of theirs was truly over.

He looked down to see why she wasn't buttoning and seeing the look on her face realized what was about to happen. He nodded sadly. "Thank you for sharing this with me. You truly are the right company ... the only company ..." his voice trailed off. Joan buttoned his collar and managed a weak smile, her eyes shining with undropped tears. The taxi blared its horn at them and they rushed out of the cabin and towards home.

-.-.-. -.-.- -.-.-. .-.-. -.-.-.

The brownstone happily greeted the exhausted travelers. Depositing their bags, coats, luggage in a pile by the coat stand, they each gravitated to their own tasks. Joan sat on the stairs and took off her high heeled boots for the first time in close to 24 hours. Sherlock grabbed the pile of mail Ms. Hudson left for him and started shuffling.

Watson heard him yelp and then cry out for her. He came and excitedly sat next to her on the stairs, "Watson! We were right! This just arrived today. The ship the other team found was the wrong vessel. They want us back next season to search at our coordinates!" They were grinning at each other in disbelief over their victory.

"We'll need to contact the institute immediately!" He went to stand up, quickly bent down and gave her a passionate kiss, "It's not over Watson, not over at all."


End file.
